Crutch
by alcyonejonquil
Summary: Illia loves Ancano - and she loves him dearly, indeed. Even in spite of the inconvenient little voice in her head who keeps pointing out everything that's not quite right. (Part 4 of "How You Appear")


**Thought I'd write some fluff for my first ever pairing today. Then, this began to take shape. Umm...**

**Enjoy an angsty character study instead!**

**(Part of the same universe as my other three stories. Clea is my F!Dragonborn.)**

* * *

On the top shelf, three Fortify Magicka vials, four of Health Regeneration. One Stamina Draught, _just in case I_ _can't find mine in a hurry_, Clea had said. As if that could ever happen. The Dragonborn had always been exceedingly neat and methodical. An adolescence spent entirely within the walls of an Imperial garrison, with one's father as commanding officer, would do that to a person, she presumed. The place where _she _herself grew up was an entirely different story. There, neverending chaos ruled.

Lust for blood, lust for power. Never enough light, the air heavy, swirling with dust and cobwebs no one bothered to sweep away. And outside, beyond the gate: beautiful, beautiful forests that she was never allowed to explore. Some guard from Riften might see, they said, might follow you home and you'd doom us all!

Instead, piles of tomes and scrolls and dry hearts and "Why, oh why won't you get this right for once in your life, Illia?!"

"You'd better not've broken the alembic again, you blundering, half-witted child!"

"Finish that lizard off, Illia, I've gotten all I needed from him. I want to see how your Ice Spikes are coming along—hopefully last week's punishment was stimulating enough for you."

That poor bastard pleading with her as if she were his only salvation...and she did make the shards sharper, damn it all to Oblivion, since it meant his death would be quicker. He would barely feel any more pain... The foulest odours imaginable in her nostrils...

_No_. No.

Clea's hair, smelling of pine cones and leafy mountain paths. Arm around her shoulders, holding her tightly, so tightly, it almost smothered everything she'd went through, buried it where it couldn't hurt her anymore.

Ancano's regal profile, gazing pensively at the moons shining above them—

_Ancano_. She'd almost forgotten about him, trapped as she'd found herself inside her mind, staring at the wide-open doors of her cabinet like a deranged person.

Should she go see him, then? Would she disturb his studies? She could always keep him company, Akatosh knew he had made it abundantly clear how much he longed for her. Knowing him, they'd probably end up pressed against each other before long, papers thrown haphazardly on the desk.

It was so strange, so novel and exciting, every single touch and look and feeling they experienced together. It startled her, sometimes, the inferno in his eyes when they were close like that. She always pulled him even closer, tried to match him as best as she could, against every scrap of irrational fear in her body.

(When you've spent most of your life under the _watchful_ _eye_ of old, powerful mages, and been perpetually told how treacherous and vile men were, that they were only good as test subjects and sacrifices, it is a challenge to keep that conditioning safely locked out of the way.)

Oh, he was so very patient with her, and caring, and eager to remind her of his adoration if she but gave him the opportunity! It was easy to give in to the one who looked at you as if you were the most cherished of gifts; only too simple to love them back.

"What if you _hadn't_ been able to?" a voice said. "Would you have had the heart to reject him? Stare into his eyes and tell him_ no_?"

"Or, worse: what if you'd have been right to do so? If he were cruel and selfish enough to seek to possess your body and discard you after he got what he wanted?"

Clea would not've let...

"See, there; there it is again! You can't rely on Clea for everything, Lilly. If you had somehow managed to escape Darklight _before_ she stumbled upon it, and found yourself utterly alone in a merciless world, whom would you have used as a crutch, then? You'd have clung like a leech to anyone showing you even a smidgen of goodwill, wouldn't you?"

_Breathe_. The voice was wrong, Ancano had fought so fiercely to find her, they were destined for each other, surely. As for Clea, she was, for all intents and purposes, her sister now, and nothing could ever undo that.

All right. Time to go. Take her love's hand, lead him to the bed, enjoy him and let him enjoy her in return. Maybe they'd go even further that day than ever before. She could use the high; she could get lost in the sublime happiness that came from being so _needed_. They'd be each other's healer, as always. Life made sense when he was trembling against her, whispering praises into the skin of her neck.

Let his hands and his mouth be her balm. Ultimately, she thought, snapping the cabinet shut, her being not quite right was reasonable enough, was it not?

After everything?


End file.
